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Las Tortugas
The assumption that Las Tortugas are indigenous to (what is assumed to be) the island has only been questioned when in recent years Jiri Fric put forward the argument that they must be, for where else could they come from? Such a scholarly declaration immediately led to its inevitable refutation by Fric’s fellow scholars, though it is true that since even the birds either cannot, or will not, migrate to and from this land it can be supposed that nothing else is able to either. Most likely then dwelling in some part further about the coast Las Tortugas certainly navigate the close seas better than any man, though they have never been observed to actually enter or leave the vast harbour occupied by Port Mercy. The means then by which they do come and go are a mystery, in a land that is itself a conundrum, and so like so much utterly disregarded by the citizens where Las Tortugas do not seem to interfere in the amount of grappa that can be had of an evening. The citizens might well be more greatly concerned if not for the actions of Port Mercy in hunting out Las Tortugas when they do appear, but that not being the case the danger that the beasts represent is barely recognised compared to the treasures they represent. Las Tortugas stand typically taller than a man, are longer limbed, and with leathery, somewhat baggy skin over their long, knotted musculature. Long necks hold ugly heads possessed of squat noses and intense, round eyes. The very name Tortugas comes from way back and the old dominion of Pargo and Invado Piratus, where the beasts were mockingly named ‘turtles’, and their raiding for the shells they certainly seem to have lost. Nikola Bulgar has admitted that the Troges do have myths regarding what they too call turtles, or rather testudo. The testudo were judged and damned by Juno, but Bulgar would not set any certainty to what little he had gleaned since, as he points out, being cursed by Juno seems to be the route cause and reason for anything the Troges don’t especially care to explain; which is nigh everything. What is true is that Las Tortugas either cannot, or will not, make anything of their own. Indeed, the purpose of their raids is to acquire more of, practically speaking, anything. And anything at all seems to be what they can take. In scraps of clothing, armed with the weapons of the previously defeated, some wear armour that must go back to Pargo’s day, in morion helmet and breastplate. For beasts that display nothing made by themselves, they do not appear to have any difficulty understanding the function of anything they successfully raid. Certainly, where Las Tortugas have taken black powder previously they have used it, guns certainly. There is some talk however that whilst they will loot the dead, they do not make use of anything immediately. Certainly, a number of Las Tortugas have been recognised in subsequent raids, even given names by those sojars that have witnessed them on different occasions. Sniff in its helmet, littered with weapons, terribly sharp-eyed (or perhaps nosed) with its habit of testing everything by the smell it dips with its fingers. Etrangler the Strangler that can climb any surface and vanish, they say, only when looked directly upon. Old Henry in its breastplate and rotten shako, with blunderbuss and, most oddly, it’s stolen neried whose cracked mask has its mouth stitched in the same manner as Las Tortugas themselves. A habit of the beasts, for otherwise they hiss and bellow alarmingly, by habit or design, and only when sealing their lips are they able to stalk as they do. There is no expected arrival, no yearly commonality, to the arrival of Las Tortugas. The mud larks or vitro farmers of Port Mercy are usually the first to notice the signs. For Las Tortugas do not simply arrive, raid, and vanish again. Whilst none has ever claimed to see them appear, the first evidence of that presence are small mounds of sand topped with a single pebble. It is seeing these that has the horrified citizen flee to Captain Leather with word, and for the Jack of Port Mercy hurriedly recruit those who would see Las Tortugas upon their way home. Wherever that might be, but certainly away from Port Mercy is considered good enough to warrant the agreed coin. It is not a duty for the Jack to dally over, since the raiding by Las Tortugas might follow immediately, or a week later. More so perhaps, where Las Tortugas are known to be about the sands cannot be harvested, and the demands from the Delves grow more aggressive in its absence. The coin does not need to be great to attract those in need of it, for Las Tortugas are unfortunate in how useful are their bodies. Their livers, eyes, and testicles are of value to parfumer and, whilst considered foul by many, the meat of Las Tortugas is delicious! If tough, even stringy, the meat tastes like that of calf. In a civilisation where a cow is almost mythical, and good, red meat almost impossible to come by, there will always be those given up by the sea that tire of pesk and fiddles. Those then would pay good coin for good cut of Tortugas, even if some consider it disgusting to eat the meat of what are clearly thinking, however beastly, creatures. The gourmand intent upon enjoying Tortugas meat, where they need to justify themselves at all, would point to the fact that the beasts themselves eat good citizens in turn. To a degree this is correct, but so far as it is true that where Las Tortugas have enjoyed the time to enjoy the bodies of those sent against them those bodies have later been found with their hearts cut cleanly from within them. This is an argument that finds little weight in Port Mercy, where the only good use for the remains of a Tortugas is chained to the Resolution for the crabs. In the Arks the Tucker sisters have long since scolded everyone against it, but it is considered a delicacy to be served expensively in the Grails.